Raising Hell: A Drop into Hades

By Sean Gilligan

On the day Colonel Mann was handed the job his life changed. He was hand picked from the U.S. Special Forces to come up with a plan for a revolutionary fi ghting force. It was a new concept for the Western Coalition nations, who were at war with a new threat emerging in the Middle East, The Islamic State. America the leading Superpower and their Coalition Allies having suffered casualties in The Gulf War, Iraq and Afghanistan since early 2000, were reluctant to put boots on the ground in this new insurrection in Iraq and Syria. Into this uncertain scenario, the idea of using an expendable military unit emerged from the bowels of the Pentagon. Colonel Mann stood before the Generals and CIA advisors as they briefed him on his mission. Put together a military unit, using selected convicts from our prisons. Train them in Special Forces tactics, as a Quick reaction force to be used in future operations. It was a decade before the emergence of ISIS, when Colonel Mann got the wheels in motion. It was a tedious process for there were many obstacles to overcome. It was kept top-secret from the start, for western political leaders would never publicly sanction such a ticking time bomb. The Pentagon put it under the umbrella of "Black Ops". Having used Americans and foreign soldiers as mercenaries for years, this new unit was an extension of foreign policy. It was a new tool, in the experimental phase for the world was dealing with global terrorism. The concept of the new Penal Army Unit is about a rarely used, little known, controversial method in the modern history of warfare, using condemned criminals to fight in near suicidal missions. Russian and German Armies were known to have Penal army units during World War 2. The Devils Brigade (1st Special Service Force), was the combined Canadian/US Commando unit in WW 2, set the standard in quick strike Combined Forces in the Allied camp. In 2014 Force X would emerge as it's modern progeny and nemesis of terrorists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781532003882

Sean Gilligan

Sean Gilligan born in Kingston, Ontario in 1958. Presently, has worked in Alberta since moving to Edmonton in 2002. Employed in Oil & Gas Industry since 2003, performing various field and production facilities while based in Edmonton. The author has a 3 year college diploma from Fanshawe College in London Ontario, and a 4- year Bachelor of Science Degree from Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario. Served for 12 years as an infantryman in The Canadian Armed Forces. Specialties included mechanized warfare, military parachuting and an array of light to heavy weapons.  The author is an experienced writer who is publishing a book for the fi rst time. This is a work of fact based fi ction, a novel centered on the ongoing war against terrorism. It is partly based on the author’s personal military and civilian experiences in this new conflict. The author plans on writing future works, possibly a sequel to this preliminary novel.   Sean Gilligan

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 SEAN GILLIGAN.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-0387-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-0388-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016913185

iUniverse rev. date: 08/19/2016

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter I Baptism of Fire

Chapter II The French Foreign Legion

Chapter III Prison

Chapter IV Force X Boot Camp

Chapter V Operation Icecube 1

Chapter VI First Strike: Operation Impact

Chapter VII Operation Monte Casino

Chapter VIII The Actress

Chapter IX Rescue Operation

Chapter X Thor’s Hammer

Chapter XI Aftermath

Chapter XII Sniper Hunt

Author’s Notes

Bibliography/ References

Present Day: Force X the first Coalition Penal Regiment goes into the fight against Islamic State in the Middle East. An unconventional approach to fighting an Unconventional War against Islamic Insurgents in the Middle East. In our unstable world National leaders need to look at adapting to expanding terrorist threats at home and abroad.

PROLOGUE

O n the day Colonel Mann was handed the job his life changed. He was hand picked from the U.S. Special Forces to come up with a plan for a revolutionary fighting force. It was a new concept for Mann and the Western Coalition nations, who were at war with a new threat emerging in the Middle East, The Islamic State. America the leading Superpower and their Coalition Allies having suffered casualties in The Gulf War, Iraq and Afghanistan since early 2000, were reluctant to put boots on the ground in this new insurrection in Iraq and Syria. Into this uncertain scenario, the idea of using an expendable military unit emerged from the bowels of the Pentagon. Colonel Mann stood before the Generals and CIA advisors as they briefed him on his mission. Put together a military unit, using selected convicts from our prison system. Train them in Special Forces tactics, as a Quick reaction force to be used in future operations.

It was a decade before the emergence of ISIS, when Colonel Mann got the wheels in motion. It was a tedious process for there were many obstacles to overcome. It was kept top-secret from the start, for western political leaders would never publicly sanction such a ticking time bomb. The Pentagon put it under the umbrella of the Black Ops. Having used Americans and foreign soldiers as mercenaries for years, this new unit was an extension of foreign policy. It was a new tool, in the experimental phase for dealing with sensitive modern issues the world was dealing with, war on terrorism. The concept of the new Penal Army Unit is about a rarely used, little known, controversial method in the modern history of warfare, using condemned criminals to fight in near suicidal missions. Russian and German Armies were known to have Penal army units during the Second World War. The Devil’s Brigade (1st Special Service Force), was the combined Canadian/US Commando unit in WW 2, which set the standard in quick strike Special Forces in the Allied camp. The Germans had Skorzeny’s Commandos while their enemy used Russian Spetznaz units on the Eastern Front.

Colonel Mann received detailed briefs on these precursors in Unconventional Commando style fighting units. After revising his plan over months he came up with a working plan. He recruited a Head quarters team, composed of American and Canadian Forces officers. He would recruit from the prison system for his new unit’s cadre. The unit would be called Force X. It would be formed and begin training at selected U.S. military bases. How long before you can have this unit operational Colonel? Mann looked at the panel of Pentagon officials seated before him. He shrugged his shoulders finally. I have no idea. Maybe never, if this goes public the whole operation maybe canned. How do I sell this to a bunch of lifers who are being asked to go into a suicidal mission? In the end he bartered for some leeway, to bargain a deal with his convict recruits. Primarily if the convicts achieved their tasks, their crimes would be exonerated and a pardon issued. As part of his skeleton force, a Military Police platoon was assigned for security and control of the new recruits. Colonel Mann hand picked his officers from the elite of U.S. Special Forces and the Canadian Forces. The first cadre of prisoners arrived at Fort Hood, a rag tag collection from prisons across the US and Canada. As Colonel Mann looked at his new unit on parade, he shook his head. How in blazes did I get this job? Why me?

As Force X began to form on that day in 1993 very few of those involved thought it would succeed. However, as Colonel Mann read about early Commando and Special Forces units’ decades before, it was a similar story. Elite units were always a risky and temporary solution and shunned by the conventional minded. But when things got desperate, they were given their chance. After the war was won, most of these elite, commando units were disbanded. A few were resurrected since 1945 in one form or the other. Canada’s 1st Parachute Battalion was disbanded quickly after the war. Replaced by Infantry Parachute Companies, these formed the new Canadian Airborne Regiment in 1968. Canada’s new elite regiment was then disbanded in 1995, replaced by the new JTF-2 Commandos. Colonel Mann initially skeptical, began to believe that his new unit could be useful after all. In the new unconventional war against Islamic insurgents in the Middle East, which was spreading into a global war on terrorism, allied conventional armies were becoming obsolete. Special Forces who could do the job, were too valuable however to be risked in suicidal, behind the lines operations. However, a small team of convicts, trained and properly motivated could achieve goals out of all proportion to their numbers. The seller was if these convicts perished, who would care? They were the dregs of society, a hidden card for the West to play against a shadowy enemy.

This tale is fact based fiction, in this context I believe a unique look at the present day War on Terrorism and Global Conflict. The main characters and heroes although largely fictional, are based on real life people. This tale shows the personal, close reality of warfare where opponents are so close you can see the color of their eyes. Many soldiers have come from the streets, ghettos, many having been to prison. It is a fact that some soldiers have been offered two choices by the courts: join the army or go to jail. Army units are a virtual cross-section of their society, including every class. As in Platoon the movie, these recycled convicts are primarily the scrapings of the barrel. They have grown up in violent, uncompromising environments were death is ever present. With relatively short basic training, they are thrown into war’s hell. These men are used as pawns in war, their lives are treated as an expendable asset by governments. For a reader who has not faced death in some form it may give an insight. From the safety of one’s home, or wherever, a feeling and understanding of those who risk life and limb daily might be entertaining. I have left a bit of a surprise for the ending, with a few questions to be answered. These will be addressed sometime down the road eventually in a sequel. For the fight against worldwide terrorism is ongoing. Where the tale will end only the future will decide. But unlike past conflicts, North Americans no longer have the luxury of ignorance, for the war has arrived on our shores.

CHAPTER I

BAPTISM OF FIRE

F lashback : It was his first action, dropped into the cataclysmic hell of battle. The year was 1965, Jack McGee was 19 years old. His unit B Company, 501 st Regiment, 1 st Air Cavalry, US Army. Born in Kentucky, he was following his family line. Ancestors had fought for the British Army during the French-Indian War (1760’s), then the Revolutionary War against Britain, 1812-14 in the ill-fated attempt to wrestle Canada from the British Empire, the Spanish-American War, the Civil War on the Confederate side, WW1, WW2, Korea and now Vietnam. Now on that fateful morning the young soldier looked out the Bell Huey chopper side door in anticipation. Sitting beside and around him were eight other members of his platoon. All were heavily loaded down with combat gear for the coming battle. Draped over Jack’s neck and biting into his skin was a belt of ammo for the M-60 machine-gun, 100 rounds of steel jacketed 7.62-mm bullets.

His piercing blue eyes noticed every fifth round had a red ring on the tip. Tracer rounds he remembered from his Basic training back state side at Fort Hood, Texas. Gripped in his sweating, trembling hand was his personal weapon, an M-16 semi-automatic rifle. In the rucksack before him, he had packed 200 rounds of 5.56-mm steel jacketed bullets for his rifle. In his webbing strapped to his 6’ lanky frame were four magazines, each loaded with 20 rounds for his rifle. The rest were in clips of five, to be loaded as needed. Also packed in the ruck were three 60- mm mortar rounds, two 81- mm mortar rounds, 6 fragmentation grenades, two smoke grenades, two canteens of water, six days of rations, one spare radio battery and two Claymore personnel mines. Also strapped to his webbing belt was his M-16 bayonet, entrenching tool, ammo pouches with magazines, a 20-foot section of coiled rope, three feet of coiled wire, which among other things could be used to garrote (strangle enemy sentries) encountered on night patrol. All in all, young Jack would go into action with over 100 pounds of gear.

Jack squinted out the open side door at the jungle below as the Helo pilot flew low, whipping the chopper from side to side, skimming over the treetops. It was called contour flying or Nap of the earth. In the door the gunner aimed the M-60 MG hanging from the roof and sprayed a burst into the jungle ahead. Jack gasped as the chopper rose and dropped, the effect was shocking to the uninitiated, leaving a queasy feeling in the guts, as his stomach was sucked in by the G’s. The ground below looked evil and foreboding to the young soldier. Sergeant Hall his platoon sergeant sat across from him, a grim look on his face. Jack could guess what the Sarge was thinking. "I’m looking at an FNG¹…who will be FUBAR in about 10 minutes…"

B Company 501st Regiment 1st Air Cavalry hit LZ X-ray minutes later. Jack could smell the cordite now, from the US Artillery which had saturated the Landing Zone just minutes before they landed. Smoke wafted across the clearing beside the nearby mountains. Jack had been told with the rest of the Company, that they would make history here today. For it would be the first ever wartime use of American soldiers inserted into combat by helicopter². They also heard during the briefing from the CO Colonel Hal Moore, to expect a few hundred NVA or Viet Cong in the vicinity. In fact, the Division Command and Intel (CIA) had no idea how many NVA were in the valley. Colonel Moore suspected privately there would be much worse awaiting them.

Mission: Close with and destroy the enemy and capture the surrounding terrain and hold till relieved. Despite his age, Jack was not a naïve idiot. He took a last drag from his Camel cigarette. Then he cocked and loaded his M-16, putting a 5.56 round into the breech. His other hand gripped the rucksack in front of him. Now he felt the hot surge of adrenaline course though his veins. He focussed his mind as he entered his zone.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, hot, salty and stinging his squinting eyes. It was searing hot and he smelled the particular odor, the stink of the Vietnamese jungle in his nostrils. He tilted his camouflaged helmet back on his shaved head, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief, which he then wrapped around his neck. The Huey pilot lowered the chattering twin engine chopper through the rising smoke over the LZ feeling his way almost blinded by the dust, debris and smoke to the designated landing spot. The chopper thudded and shook as the skids crashed through the foliage of the jungle below. Bits of foliage chopped to ribbons, whirled through the air as the ground slowly rose to Jack. He and the other members of his section grimaced and held on as the Huey rocked from side to side. Get ready boys! The Sarge yelled.

Holy Shit! Jack yelled as bits of dirt and foliage blinded him. The veteran Senior NCO merely smiled at him amusedly as he finished his last cigarette. It’s OK Sonny! Just keep tight on my ass! Who are you?

Airborne! Screamed eight troopers, as they psyched themselves up for the impending drop into combat or as they would soon find out, Hell. Hades as the ancients called it. Hades being the god who ran the dark place. How Far? Sergeant Hall yelled. All the Way! HURRAH!

O.K. Troopers! Look at me! Everybody out! Go! Go! Go! Private McGee did not hesitate. He booted his rucksack out the door, then jumped out after it. Lowering his foot to the landing skid, he balanced then pushed off hard. He grunted as he hit the ground five feet below, rolling to absorb the impact, as he had learned while on his Jump Course at Fort Brag, N.C. a mere six months ago. He had performed the required six jumps and received his coveted Jump Wings. Since then he had done three mass drops with the 501st Regiment on exercises in the U.S. The Huey roared loudly above, as the other soldiers disgorged from the chopper in rapid succession from both side doors, as they had been trained in the previous months. Jack squinted his eyes about him, as the backwash of the rotor blades, swirled dirt, grass, artillery smoke and corruption in the air about him. He could see nothing. He struggled to restore a sense of calm, while trying to orientate himself to the ground mentally. His M-16 was gripped firmly in his sweating right palm, his left hand found and hoisted up his heavy 100-pound rucksack from the grass, slinging it over his shoulder.

Fuck! Move yer ass! Jack roared to no one in particular, more to motivate himself. He spat before him dryly, then grunting hoisted himself to his feet, shifting the heavy rucksack on his shoulders. His muscles ached under the tension and strain, but from deep inside himself felt a growing sense of excitement. This was his time…to be initiated into combat…to lose his cherry! The Hueys turned and burned as their cargo bays cleared of Air Cavalry troopers and flew off back toward the base in the south. A few minutes later all was quiet in the Au Shau Valley. Jack slowly knelt on one knee in the tall grass, surrounded by the 32 men of his platoon. Sergeant Hall nearby was surveying the area to the front with his binoculars. Jack could hear the squawk from the radioman’s 25 set, tuned in on the command frequency. It was eerily silent now. 21 Bravo this is Niner! Move out to the ridge ah…150 yards to your 12 over. Roger that Niner! 21B out!

OK! 1st Platoon! Move out! 1 Section left, 2 Section Right…3 Section follow and give covering fire if we contact the enemy! Jack a member of 1 Section, got up and followed his section I/C Sergeant Hall. Minutes later they took the low, sloping ridge, overlooking the LZ below. He watched as other platoons moved outward as well, securing the outer perimeter, facing the north, east and west, the big mountain looming to the north. It was from here Colonel Hal Moore had been informed he would find the hidden NVA.

Back in the battalion CP, Colonel Moore was calmly looking over a map, surrounded by the B Company CO, Major Ring, the Sergeant Major, a radioman and the Artillery Rep. Listen up I expect the enemy to attack from the north, here and here. We only have about 60 men till the second lift arrives, so we hold the high ground and secure the LZ first. I want artillery support on that forward slope of the mountain. Sergeant Major get the Mortar Platoon to dig in at that copse of trees there. Have them ready to support the two lead platoons ASAP! Sir! Mortars stand to! The tall RSM was a seasoned combat vet and paratrooper. He had combat jumps from WW2 and Korea under his belt. Moore nodded as he headed off, his tall lanky frame, the epitome of the unflappable warrior. Moore nodded satisfied his RSM would handle the mortars efficiently.

Ten minutes later the first NVA was found. Two Air Cav soldiers pushed him before Colonel Moore, then forced him to squat before the steely eyed Colonel. Found him squatting over there in a hole Sir! He seemed to be watching our positions. Could be NVA Recce Scout Sir. Colonel Moore nodded to the soldiers guarding this runt. He did not look like a soldier dressed in black rags. He looked at the suspected VC scout, who returned the look with an impudent smirk. Moore looked at the tall imposing figure of the RSM beside him. Without a work the RSM kicked the feet from the prisoner, gripping his hair he yanked his face up then swatted him on the jaw. He shook the prisoner till he stopped wailing. Colonel Moore smiled and waved for him to stop softening the prisoner up. Good Work RSM McDonald! Interpreter question this damn fellow.

The South Vietnamese soldier came forward and began yelling at the crouching prisoner, swatting him on his head. The prisoner glared back insolently, muttering in short staccato sentences. Sergeant Quan Lee stared at him, then looked grimly at the Colonel. Colonel Sir! He claims there are over 5,000 NVA from the 390th Regiment, hard core NVA on that mountain. And there are more regiments in the area. And they all want to kill Americans! Moore nodded then ordered his radioman to call the Artillery Support base and register the Mountain for bombardment. As the wheels were set into motion so did Col. Moore’s brain.

Gentlemen. We can expect the first attack soon. Major Ring, look to your Company Sir. Minutes later the first wave of NVA hit the B Company perimeter, as Colonel Moore had suspected. Jack watched as they broke the tree line, 200 meters to his platoon’s front. The M60’s opened up first, short rapid, well aimed bursts cutting into the ranks of NVA soldiers. Dozens fell to the ground from the accurate bursts. There was the dull thud of mortars behind, then white phosphorous rounds burst in front of the attacking wave. These first rounds indicated the mortars were on target.

Mike 6. You are on! Fire for effect! Mounds of dirt shot into the air, the high pitched wine of shrapnel hissing through the foliage, cutting into the bodies of the NVA. Huge gaps appeared in their ranks, but still they pushed on. Jack could hear the whistles and shouts from the NVA commanders, urging their men forward. Jack calmly took aim at an advancing NVA soldier, now about 100 feet before him. He calmed his breathing, watching through the sights, taking aim at his center of mass, his chest. He spread his legs a bit, eased his elbows out, forming a triangle of support for his weapon. He felt relaxed now, he was in his zone. Then the order came… "Platoon to your front! NVA in open…Rapid Fire!’ Lieutenant Stamp shouted. Suddenly the air erupted as the combined firepower of 1st Platoon hit the enemy. To see the combined firepower of a single infantry platoon is one to observe. A well trained platoon of 30 odd soldiers with modern weapons can unleash a devastating amount of firepower: semi-automatic rifles, automatic small arms join medium machine guns, light mortars, anti tank, grenades and other nasty things on an approaching enemy. The noise and deafening explosions can scare the uninitiated, as Jack slowly squeezed the trigger. His M-16 barked and the empty casing ejected into the air. His right eye blinked as he watched the NVA stagger then tumble to the ground.

Fucking right! First one buddy! He smiled as he switched to the next target, a short, squat lad. He aimed a bit higher then squeezed his trigger again. The round hit the man in his throat. A spray of blood shot into the air as he dropped his gun. He watched as the man in agony, grasped his ruined throat, then he sunk to his knees. The last survivor who had made it 50 feet in front of Jack’s position, stopped then threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Jack and his section took aim and riddled him, his blood soaked corpse dead before it hit the ground. Mortar and heavy artillery whined overhead, then the crump as they exploded on the mountain side left Jack with a pleased feeling. Not bad for FNG’s eh Sarge? Jack smiled at the Sarge as he walked by. The taciturn Sergeant nodded with a faint trace of a smile on his smoke darkened face.

That was the start Sonny! Platoon check yer Ammo! Medic take the wounded to the CP. Section Commanders O-Group. The first attack had been defeated. But all knew the worst was yet to come….

That had been some time ago now. Jack was physically and mentally exhausted. It was near 6 p.m. as he glanced at his watch. He spat dryly as he continued to dig his slit trench further with his entrenching tool. Mounds of dirt were flung out of his trench, like he was some oversized groundhog, enlarging its underground tunnel. The dirt fell on top of bodies. Around Jack’s trench were a lot of bodies. He had dragged them from the surrounding area and piled them like sandbags around the top of the trench for added protection. He had read how Spartans piled the Persian dead at Thermopylae, to strengthen their thin defences, against waves of invading Persians. A pile of dirt fell into the gaping mouth of one NVA killed in the last attack.

Stand to! Here they come lads! Jack popped his head up and saw them. He gripped the butt stock of the M-60 chopper. He had taken it over after the gunner was wounded in the last attack. Jack had helped carry him to the chopper down below. Take care Jack! Hold this fucking LZ till I get back!

You bet Jose! Got nowhere else to be right now. Hey…you owe me a beer back at the mess! Jack shook his buddy’s hand as he lay on the deck of the Huey. He noticed the blood congealing in pools on the blood spattered floor. The chopper carried 10 wounded crammed in like sardines. Jack lifted off the last crate of ammo the chopper was delivering. He waved at the pilot and gave him the thumbs up. The pilot looking down at the young soldier, his face and body covered in the dirt and soot of battle. He smiled and saluted him, then lifted the over-laden chopper off the ground. Jack led a section of reinforcements, all laden with boxes of rations and ammo back to his platoon area. By this time the company was reinforced to over 450 men.

Lieutenant Stamp shot a Para flare into the air, highlighting the advancing wave of NVA in the sky. The platoon opened up a vicious hail of fire into their packed ranks. The noise was deafening…then the medium mortars from down in the LZ joined in. Each round of 81 mm HE hit with a roar. Everything above ground within 150 meters was cut to ribbons. Five minutes later the attack was over. Jack gasped as he surveyed the area to his front. His M-60 barrel smoked in front of him from the continuous rapid fire he had laid down.

He figured he had fired over 1000 rounds. Piles of bullet ridden NVA corpses lay before him, stretching back for 500 meters. He figured he had wiped out hundreds of the bastards. Cease fire 1 Platoon!’ It was Lieutenant Stamp from his CP down the line. Jack lifted his smoke blackened face over the lip of his trench and leaned an elbow on the chest of a dead NVA. He looked down at the young man’s face. Riffling through the pockets he found a pack of cigarettes. He smiled seeing they had a French label. Don’t mind do you comrade? He flipped one out and put it in his dry lips. Lighting it he smoked, enjoying the strange aroma. Taking stock, the Sergeant went up and down the line of the platoon. He dropped two boxes of machine gun ammo off at Jack’s trench. Good job young fellah. How you holding out son? Just warming up Sarge. Am I still an FNG?" Around the perimeter troopers whooped sensing victory, taking pot shots at a twitching corpse.

Just keep that saw going Trooper. Our guys depend on you OK? He looked down at the young soldier, his eyes gleaming white on his blackened face. Jack nodded then the Sarge walked off to the next trench. For the rest of the evening and well into the night, the NVA kept coming. They were launching brief, probing attacks, interspersed by shelling from mortars and light artillery. By now Jack’s platoon was down below 50%, around 14 effectives. Most like Jack, had been wounded at least once, but the young Air Cavalry troopers hung on grim and determined. In the final attack, the NVA succeeded in reaching their lines. It was hand to hand, no holds barred combat in the trenches for over an hour.

An NVA had leapt on Jack as he fired a viscous hail into a line of NVA, wiping them out. Jack fought the screaming NVA, booting him in the pills. He felt a knife scrape his ribs, then the hot blood trickle down his stomach. In a last desperate act, as both grunted and yelled, he plunged his bayonet into the NVA’s stomach and ripped upwards. The man looked into his eyes gasping out his last breath, his fingers clutching his hands as Jack twisted it cruelly into his guts. Jack looked into the dying man’s eyes as he pulled his bayonet free.

The enemy sank to his knees on the bottom of the trench dead. Jack kicked the corpse, stuck his bayonet into his scabbard and opened up his M-60 again. He saw a group of NVA standing over the trench of his buddy Lou on his right. They were bayoneting him as he lay slumped over the parapet of his trench. Jack screamed in hate as he poured lead into them. He saw the tracer rounds set their uniforms afire as their bodies twisted and jerked under his murderous hail of point blank fire.

Everybody down! Rounds coming in! the Lieutenant had requested and received close in fire support, virtually on top of his platoon’s position. It was a mix of heavy artillery (155 mm), 81 mm mortar and fast air…rocket firing choppers and Thunderbolt ground attack aircraft. These dropped 500 pound bombs, 20-mm cannon and napalm rockets. The men scrambled for their trenches as the first wave of low fighter bombers flicked their wings then dived in toward them. The ground shook around Jack and the earth heaved. The shock waves numbed his brain and deafened his eardrums. Small numbers of surviving NVA retreated back to their lines, leaving scores of dead and wounded around the Air Cavalry defensive lines.

It was first light when he came out of his concussed state. He smelt the cordite and napalm around him, that gasoline smell. He had no idea how long he had been here. He stood up slowly and peered out of his trench. All about him the ground smoked. He urinated as he smoked, not even noticing his urine was falling on the stiffened corpse below him. He took a swig from his canteen and lit up another smoke. His eyes hurt, his body ached from every joint. Jack saw his platoon area was a scene from Hades. Surrounding each position were a mound of bodies piled four feet high, burnt black and shriveled, pieces of bodies lay everywhere on the bloody grass. He remembered reading about The Little Bighorn catastrophe. The Greasy Grass as the Lakota Indians called it. This must